


Hold You Close

by dhyanshiva



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Flashback, Fluff, Found Family, Hope, Hot Drinks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Post-Canon, second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhyanshiva/pseuds/dhyanshiva
Summary: Wordlessly, he handed Aman the grey device, a large crack on the screen, wallpaper one of them at the mandap only 5 years ago. The crack had run right down the middle and Aman deliberately chose not to dwell on its symbolism as he pocketed the phone.---He was fine, apparently. Aman didn’t attempt to contradict him, knowing his husband was on the verge of caving in.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 21
Kudos: 29





	1. Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Happy SMZS on Prime Day! Yes, this is a cause for celebration but perhaps the piece won't read as such...
> 
> I'm glad this was written for the 17th because as I type this note, forming a coherent sentence is quite a struggle. Thank you to Hitesh, Vayu and the entire cast and crew for creating and gifting this masterpiece of a movie to us. As we like to say, it isn't just a movie, but an Experience!
> 
> This goes out to Sargun, Sam, Shivi and my bird app GC bros. This incredible group of people, with Marine as our captain, have made me feel incredibly loved and accepted, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> As with the other pieces, do let me know what you thought of it with a comment and/or kudos!
> 
> Much Love,  
> Dhyan  
> PS. If you're on Instagram, do check out the latest post on the account @pashminax - it's my tribute to the magnificent album :)

It had been a long, taxing day and Aman finds himself glancing at the clock far too frequently. With a job like this, it was only natural to yearn for a small break. Being a paramedic was demanding and emotionally, physically draining but if he was honest with himself, Aman wouldn’t have it any other way. As it often did when he reflected on the path his life had taken, his thoughts wandered towards Kartik. Out of habit, his index traced the engraved message on his wedding band, complimentary to his husband’s. They were both in professions they loved and their flat in the outskirts of London was a haven away from the chaos of life. Kartik was his everything and truly, Aman couldn’t be happier to share the rest of his days with him. He was pulled out of his musings from the blaring of the emergency alarm and a call about a collision on the M4. The voice seemed familiar but Aman didn’t pay close attention as he and the team got geared up, heading out to the site. His personal number wouldn’t stop ringing on the way there, but he simply didn’t have the time to attend to it. Alarms blaring, they got to the location in under 10 minutes. A quick glance at the wreckage had the team jumping into action, bringing out gurneys and supplies within seconds. Strapping on the appropriate gear, Aman and a Police Inspector made their way there.

Simply put, it was horrific, even from a distance and unease began to creep into Aman’s gut as they got closer. Evidently, a truck had veered from its lane and slammed into a Toyota Prius, crushing it against the handrail. Now, the vehicle resembled nothing more than tin foil, the silver bright and blinding against the night sky. The passenger side was exposed but the driver’s side was left in ruins. The incessant ringing of his phone only added to his fears and the call of his name made all the pieces fall into place, even before he saw the license plate of the smaller vehicle. Aman recalled Kartik telling him he’d carpool with a co-worker and that he’d be home later than usual. Aman had watched as he’d sped away in the hybrid contraption, nursing a mug of coffee on their balcony. There, clothes dishevelled and Kartik’s phone in hand and blood trickling from his temple, soiling his otherwise pristine collar, stood his husband’s colleague and a close friend to them both. He rushed towards Aman, tears streaming down his face.

Wordlessly, he handed Aman the grey device, a large crack on the screen, wallpaper one of them at the mandap only 5 years ago. The crack had run right down the middle and Aman deliberately chose not to dwell on its symbolism as he pocketed the phone. Aman felt a firm squeeze on his shoulder and he nodded, not bothering to speak as his emotions went haywire. He felt himself go numb. He saw that a subgroup of his burliest men had already saved the truck driver from the wreckage and were shifting him onto a stretcher. Their grim expressions only worsened the ache in Aman’s chest, his thoughts taking an even darker turn. If this was his state, the Lord only knew what state he’d find Kartik in. Jamie, his team member he was closest to, came up to him, fury burning in his eyes, the expression more terrifying amidst the flashing lights of the ambulances and police vehicles.  
The words ‘drunk driver’ had barely registered in his mind as his heart took over, deciding how to react. Whenever it came to completely avoidable incidents such as this, Aman’s heart broke for his colleague. Jamie had lost his father to an accident like this and it’s what motivated him to become a paramedic. The young boy would never forget the pain he’d been forced through and vowed to save as many lives as he could.

Rage, despair and anguish coursed through his veins as he ran towards the wreckage. 3 years of experience seemed immaterial in the face of the sight that met him, however. Nothing, he realised, would ever prepare for the event of seeing a loved one in this kind of a situation. Nothing. Automatically, he tuned out the part of him that was panicking. Now was not the time to be irrational and emotional. His priority, as with every accident, was the victim. He barely held back the bile that threatened to push through.  
Kartik’s head was at an impossible angle, blood trailing from his moth and a massive gash on his forehead. He was sandwiched between the door and the other half of the vehicle, torso half hanging out of the shattered window, the jagged edges of the shattered glass digging into his waist. Off the bat, he reaches out and grips Kartik’s wrist, checking for a pulse, barely keeping his panic at bay. The relief is indescribable when he feels it, faint but very much there. He shouts for assistance with his spouse’s limp body as he undoes the seatbelt. The movement is slow and for a long moment, he has to hold Kartik’s limp body to his person, pulling out the shards of glass as quick as possible. His face rests against Aman’s chest and though it sounds ridiculous and improbable, Aman hopes for the sound and sensation of his racing heart to wake Kartik up. He doesn’t though and the only thing that keeps Aman from screaming in agony is that he’s on the job, in a professional space. A part of him is still numb and he knows it’ll only respond when he’s away from this chaos, away from the judgement of the world.

Carefully, knowing the damage would be much worse than what he was seeing right now, Aman manages to lift Kartik out of the wreckage. As he lifts him up with Jamie at hand, he sees something that almost causes him to break down crying. A pen drive labelled ‘Aman’ was plugged into the system. It was a playlist that he’d curated for Kartik one lazy evening many months ago. Once he shifts Kartik onto a gurney and orders for him to be hooked to a ventilator, Aman ducks and removes the USB, pocketing it with a sad smile on his face. Turning away, he gestures for the police to step forward and assess the damage. It was time to get to hospital.

As the primary responder on this case, Aman had to take the lead with hospital procedures. On the way there, machinery and 2 other paramedics crowding the space, Aman keeps his hand firmly clasped in Kartik’s the other resting on his head. His skin was abnormally pale, and the barely decipherable movement of his chest made Aman tighten his grip unconsciously. He barely contributed to the furious conversation that was taking place around him. The blaring of the siren as they raced through the near empty motorway fading as he focused entirely on his husband. The drunk driver was in much better condition and was responding, according to the commentary from the other vehicle and Aman hasn’t felt this raw anger and hatred in years, patient though he may have been.

Upon arrival, Kartik was admitted to the ICU and Aman had barely filled out the standard forms when a doctor emerged. Aman registered a flash of pity and regret when he introduced himself as the patient’s husband. He tried to steel his nerves for what was undoubtedly bad news. As soon as the statement registered though, he felt his knees buckle and it was only Jamie’s reflex response of catching his elbow to steady him.

“The damage is severe, and the patient has slipped into a coma. There’s some damage sustained to the spine and surgery will have to be done. You can visit him now, though.”

Tread unsteady and chest burning with barely restrained sobs, he pushes open the door. Seeing Kartik so still ripped a sob out of him, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as more followed, the sound echoing alongside the constant, steady beeping of the machinery. He collapsed in the plastic chair beside the hospital bed, reaching out and grasping Kartik’s hand once more. It was limp, cold and bloodied, a stain on the wedding band too. The sight broke his heart and Aman leaned forward, resting his forehead against their clasped hands. Shutting his eyes, he prayed to the Gods that his husband adored. The short sleeves left his tattoo exposed and the intricate design was something Kartik was incredibly proud of conceptualising. Aman knew how much it meant to him and he begged those very forces to heal his husband, to not summon him before his time.  
Glancing up at the clock, Aman realised it was best he get home. After all, there was someone he had yet to break the news to. He got home and as he put the key into the lock, he heard the scrabble of activity from the other side. No sooner had he crossed the threshold was Coffee leaping up to meet him, pawing at Aman’s thighs. Instantly though, their beautiful puppy recognised the difference in Aman and calmed down, letting out a low whine at the despair that was so evident.

Aman watched as Coffee curled up into a ball and followed him around with those wide brown eyes. Having taken off his shoes and jacket, Aman collapsed on the sofa. Quietly, Coffee climbed onto his lap and licked his hand as the other stroked his back. Aman sourced comfort from the silkiness of his fur and the warmth of his small body close to his. Coming back to an empty flat was unusual. Every surface was a reflection of Kartik. As an interior designer, Aman had let his husband take lead with the visual aspect and the love and devotion he’d put into each area was evident. Aman didn’t realise he was crying till he felt Coffee lick them away. That was his breaking point. He buried his face into his fur, letting himself cry unabashedly. A few minutes later, he’d managed to regain a semblance of composure ad let Coffee go, only to have him tug at his trousers, pulling him off the sofa. Aman let himself be dragged towards their bedroom and Coffee jumped onto their duvet, positioning himself squarely on Kartik’s side of the bed. It brought a smile to his face, albeit watery, to see Coffee like this. Usually, he was excited, a reflection of Kartik himself but there were many occasions when he’d sensed either of them in a bad space and come into their room, curling up at their feet, offering comfort. Now, he got into bed and reached out to stroke their wonderful companion. Kartik’s absence was even more obvious, the bed too big for one. The last thing Aman registered was the placing of a paw over his outstretched hand as he fell asleep.

Hours later, he was awoken by a call from work. There had been another minor accident, but the damage was sustained by a pedestrian. Sighing, he got ready for the day, trying not to focus on how silent his surroundings were. It was in this way, consumed by work, that a week went by. It was Friday when Aman found himself in that doctor’s office once more, the surgery complete. However, the older man’s face was impossibly graver, and Aman found himself holding his breath, nails digging into the leather hand rest. Instead of speaking, the doctor slid Kartik’s file across, letting Aman find out the news himself.

He couldn’t quite believe what he was reading and found himself switching between the printed words and the doctor’s face, waiting for the impossible – a change in results. This was it though, set in stone. He stood up, shaking. The doctor rose too, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. Aman barely acknowledged the sincere ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Singh - Tripathi’ as they made their way out of the office. He slid the file into his bag and shut his eyes. Practicing his calming techniques for a few moments, Aman waited to become more composed before he entered the room once more. This time, he’d have to look Kartik in the eye and Aman could predict how this would go down. The first words when Aman entered shattered his resolve altogether, the quiver in his husband’s voice, tremor in his hands making Aman’s chest ache.

“Why.. wh – why can’t I feel my legs?”


	2. Black and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is a lengthy twisting road and the hardest step to take is the first one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been written to honour the multitude of emotions I'd experienced on the eve and day of release of 'SMZS'.
> 
> Thank you for everything.
> 
> Jo hai, 'zyada' nahi hai par mere liye 'kaafi' hai.

Kartik was discharged from hospital on an ordinary Saturday evening 3 months after the horrific accident.

Thankfully, his initial question concerned severe injury to his calves and feet alone - shock had consumed him entirely, leading him to assume that the paralysis was both from the waist down and permanent. Aman struggled to get more than 2 days leave at a time and he ended up spending any time left to him by Kartik’s side.

Aman’s boss was sympathetic, yes, but there was only so much she could do, despite knowing word for word the outcome of that crash, the work of her primary dispatch team. Nonetheless, he liked to believe that their colleagues’ combined encouragement, support and Kartik’s immeasurable resilience helped make his journey of recovery a little easier.

Their return home however, was bereft of the relief that had followed at the doctor’s green light. Kartik relied entirely on his crutches to support him, a tilt of the head enough to tell Aman to not worry so much. He was fine, apparently. Aman didn’t attempt to contradict him, knowing his husband was on the verge of caving in.

On unlocking their front door, the couple were greeted by their puppy, enthusiastic yet restrained in his welcome.

Silently, Coffee nudged his head against Kartik’s calf and Aman watched as his husband smiled, a sheen of tears making his eyes shine. He pawed at a crutch, but made sure not to knock it away in his excitement. Aman would have been content to let him continue his perusal but the sight of a lone tear travelling down Kartik’s cheek spurred him into action. Silently, he reached out to rest a hand against Kartik’s back, guiding him to their sofa, indicating he should rest and allow Aman to take care of him.

Immediately, Coffee leapt onto Kartik’s lap and Aman heard the softest of whines leave their labrador and his spouse’s low murmurs trying to reassure him that “everything was going to be okay. Main theek hu, shaant baccha shaant.”

Evidently, their puppy had developed a keen eye like Aman’s to see right through Kartik’s well constructed disguise and Aman returned a while later, beverages in hand, to see him resting a paw over Kartik’s heart, as if to reassure himself that his parents were really back.

No more just Aman letting himself into the flat, forlorn and tearful.

Kartik had returned to him, to them.

Aman handed Kartik his cup of hot chocolate and took a seat on the opposite end, hands wrapped around an identical cup, content to sit in a weightless silence. He utilised the time to appreciate the fact that Kartik was before him, in their home again. Letting his gaze wander over his partner’s beautiful profile, he allowed this reality to truly sink in, letting it warm the furthest recesses of his heart and soul.

It was only now that Kartik Singh - Tripathi looked comfortable, a little more at ease, and that was all that mattered to Aman in this moment.

Kartik tried to find comfort in the familiar taste of this drink. The special kind his wonderful husband made when things were either going horribly wrong or wonderfully well. In this situation, Kartik couldn’t quite discern if it was one or the other. Perhaps it was both.

He found his free hand drifting towards Coffee, fingers threading themselves through his black fur. The movement was stilled by the realisation that Aman too, had reached out for him. He savoured his touch, his proximity, their solitude, everything.

This was  _ his  _ family. Something he’d thought unattainable, a dream considered just a crazy delusion. Something well beyond his reach, beyond what he deserved - 

As if sensing the self destructive train of thought he’d managed to board, Aman shifted to rest a hand over his. Kartik couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the familiar sight, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle the volume of affection and understanding he’d see in his husband’s eyes. He instead settled for lacing his fingers through Aman’s.

Their flat was a more than welcome change, a return to normalcy yet Kartik could only focus on the doctor’s words of advice - it was impossible to ignore his predicament.

“Give yourself time to heal. I mean this in all domains. Don’t push yourself unnecessarily. This is not a race, there is no finish line. Trust your instincts, they will never guide you wrong.”

Kartik appreciated those words, but ruminating over them now only gave rise to more anxiety.

He wasn’t ready to talk about ‘what now’, neither did he want to  _ think  _ about it, for another day at least. Without his having said a word, Aman recognised and respected this reluctance. He hadn’t broached the subject upon leaving through the doors of the hospital, nor attempted to tread the path ahead on reaching home - Kartik valued this immensely

To try and express his gratitude for the same - though Aman would roll his eyes and wave it away, “the least I can do’ he’d say - would become tearful and messy. Thus, Kartik chose to focus on the past, on a shared memory that never failed to lift his spirits.

“Do you remember when we first came across this bundle of joy? He didn’t even have a name, no one was up to adopting him and to this day, I don’t quite understand why. But that it meant that he found a home with us means more to me than anything else.”

Aman’s voice was soft as he responded and though he was all but whispering, the sincerity in each word rang loud and clear.

“Hai na? If anything, the white scar on his forehead gives him a bit of character. Utna bada bhi nahi hai, and it doesn’t cause him pain anymore.”

Kartik could  _ hear  _ the smile in Aman’s voice as he continued, grip tightening slightly.

“But you’re right, it meant that  _ we  _ could take him in, give him all the love he deserves and more. He’s a ray of sunshine in this home, no matter what, if we’re feeling blue or the weather is more temperamental than usual.”

As if taking a cue from this utterance, there was a clap of thunder and within seconds, rain was drumming on their windows in a steady rhythm that felt to Kartik as if it were mimicking his heartbeat. The atmosphere almost perfectly replicated that of an autumn evening 2 years ago and Kartik felt the familiar sensation of peace and calm envelop him as he and Aman finally looked one another in the eye and took themselves back to that time.

To a night infused with hope and the feeling of belonging, of home.

In the year following their arrival in the UK, Kartik held a full time job with a well known company in the domain of interior design. In synchronisation with Aman eventually perfecting the balance between life as a student, trainee and working a few hours at a cafe, Kartik shifted to part time, devoting some of the time it granted him to freelance work. With Aman’s graduation and securing a full time job as a paramedic soon after, he shifted entirely to freelance work.

Though it confused their friends at times, this dynamic worked for them and that was all that mattered.

Once a month, though, they made sure to keep an evening completely free, time taken out days in advance on Kartik’s end when Aman had secured his mandated day of desk duty - a reliable rule at his new workplace that Kartik appreciated in equal measure. 

One of these nights above all the others was etched in their hearts and minds forever, a milestone in its own right

Aman had brought home a small box of doughnuts, fulfilling the customary requirement of something sweet. Kartik had very kindly set up their makeshift den in the living room. Aman had changed out of his uniform as his husband perfected the setup. It had been an unexpectedly tiring day and he longed for the calm and comfort Kartik’s company gave him. The couple had only recently adopted their brown eyed puppy but there was only one small problem: his ‘naamkaran’ was yet to happen.

Aman had flat out refused Kartik’s half - serious suggestion to call him Miller. According to him, the other man’s obsession with ‘Broadchurch’ would tide over soon enough and he’d regret it afterwards - Kartik saw the logic and eventually agreed with him. It was this dilemma that bugged Aman as they watched ‘Brave’ - Kartik’s pick for the night.

Aman smiled as he recalled making the very important decision of making their drinks that night. He’d been reluctant to break away from his husband’s warm embrace and their cocoon but some things just had to be done. Aman needed to stretch his limbs and Kartik had been too engrossed in the magnificence of Merida’s empowering speech to notice his departure.

Valid, if he was being honest.

Aman had returned minutes later, doughnuts and coffee on their best tray.

Kartik looked up only when Aman cleared his throat (not so) discreetly.

“Tum uthe kab? Mujhe toh pata hi nahi chala!”

“Agar tumhe in dono ke lagaatar jhagadne se dhyan hat’ta toh hi notice karte na? Koi nahi, aaj thand aur tez baarish dono hai toh tum yeh pi lo. Look, you’re practically shivering!”

“Coffee?”

Aman’s coffee was Kartik’s favourite drink by far, yes, but this degree of enthusiasm had taken him aback, causing a pang of regret. How long had it been since he’d done something so simple for them, for him?

What confused him more, however, was their puppy’s sudden occupation of the little space between them. When had they called him over from his basket? Surely..

“Is it just me or did he respond to what I just said?”

Kartik seemed equally perplexed and for a moment, Aman was at a loss for words. He attempted to ignore the almost pleading gaze in the animal’s eyes and tried for a glare at his husband.

“No, please. Try something else, I don’t want to settle this quickly yaar. Tumhe toh har roz naam dene padte hai, samaan ya rangon ko. Thoda dimaag chalao and come up with something unique, let’s give it a shot.”

“But - accha theek hai.”

“Blaze.”

Dismissed with a slow blink and a confused head tilt.

“Kors.”

The dog was the embodiment of gentle and he damn well knew it - hence done away with immediately. Aman saw a mischievous light come into his husband’s eye and braced himself.

“Miller?”

He barely held back a sigh of relief as the puppy whined, indignation almost palpable.

“Ok, no. Hm.. Orzhov?”

“I refuse on his behalf.”

“Izzet.”

The puppy’s gaze turned almost mournful, ears turned downward and Kartik let go of the idea, turning to Aman. He gave it a shot, drawing from the faint memory of casting a passing glance at Kartik’s workstation a day or two ago.

“Abzan?”

No response.

“Siamak?”

Aman’s mother had divulged to him at some point that she’d had this name as an option for his own naamkaran. It still made him shudder to this day. There was no harm in trying it now though.

Thankfully, their still nameless puppy remained silent.

Sighing, he met Kartik’s gaze and shrugged, accepting mutual defeat.

“You do realise the shade of our drinks match his eyes exactly, right? It’s meant to be!”

Aman couldn’t stand strong in front of two pairs of beautiful brown eyes and a smile was all the encouragement his partner needed.

“Coffee!”

Aman had been able to save Kartik’s near empty mug seconds before the newly named Coffee had leapt onto him, paws resting on his shoulders, barking enthusiastically. Kartik’s laughter rang throughout the flat, happy and carefree. Now, though, there was a suffocating silence, devoid of that joy and freedom. Moments later, Aman broke the tableau, helping Kartik to his feet and manoeuvring them through their night routine.

With each passing moment, Kartik seemed more defeated, with his guards eventually crashing down as Aman helped him into bed, reaching out for him immediately. He didn’t question it when Kartik tucked himself against Aman’s side, a rare choice in position.

Then again, none of this was ordinary to begin with.

Wordlessly, Aman held him impossibly close, tracing Kartik’s tattoo with his free hand, knowing touch would help ground his distraught husband, bringing them the peace they desperately needed right now. With Coffee settled at the foot of their bed, they were asleep within seconds.

From tomorrow, they’d tackle each seemingly insurmountable hurdle together, as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
